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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592616">Bring the prince to War</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/French/pseuds/French'>French</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:42:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,289</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592616</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/French/pseuds/French</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>January of 1969, America is in crisis as the nation fractures itself apart. as this is going on, a prince form another universe is sent over in hopes of protecting him from a civil war in their universe. While ironic, his goal is simple, blend in and survive.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Quiet life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, this was made because of a bet I lost during the 2020 election. I hope you enjoy my first work here.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>17th of January, 1969<br/>
30 miles from Denver, Colorado</p>
<p>---------------</p>
<p>Judging from my watch, I have been walking for 30 minutes. I have found myself in a poor, small hamlet or village called "Hudson'', diffidently a far cry from the lavishness I grew up with. Thankfully, it appears that changing before I got here was a good idea as I am now dressed for the part with Jeans and a red-white flannel. walking down the main road, I find myself checking my bag multiple times despite repeatedly telling myself</p>
<p>"They're not going to rob me, they have no reason to."</p>
<p>The best way to describe the atmosphere of the town was quite quaint, if not humble. All I can say is that I'm jealous of their lifestyle, as they don't have to worry about having a servant or guard at every corner. Despite this, I could sense what felt like a sort of tension, if not fear. Pretending I couldn't notice it, I kept walking till I got to a bench to sit down at and relax.</p>
<p>"You know what, I could get used to this."</p>
<p>For the first time in years, I was able to enjoy a slower life; I sat there for who knows how long.</p>
<p>*grumble*</p>
<p>Fuck, I need food.<br/>
No need to worry, I have some cash. . .</p>
<p>"Fuck, I forgot to grab my wallet."</p>
<p>GREAT! Just great. I don't have transport, I'm starving, and I don't have any cash. I guess I will have to do something I have never had to do, work for my money. Looking around, I don't see anyone wanting to hire. Must be a recession going on, that's fair.</p><p>I have walked every street of this town. and still no help wanted postings around. All I have found is 7 dollars and 53 cents, enough for a meal. giving up, I headed for a diner I spotted coming into town, the "Denver Express". The "building" is made up of 2 converted Pullman cars welded together to make an establishment no larger than most medicine shops. Coming in, I'm told to seat myself by what I can assume is the owner, judging by her more decorated attire compared to the rest of the staff. I made my way to the counter to sit, and am greeted by a waitress no older than 25.</p>
<p>"What would you like?"</p>
<p>While I was more shocked by her informal language than her age, I answered her question:</p>
<p>"I'm not from around this area, could you tell me what you serve ma'am?"</p>
<p>to say she was perplexed by my usage of "city-folk" language would be appropriate. to remedy this, I asked her what she would like me to say.</p>
<p>"just call me 'Bella, short for Isabella"</p>
<p>After a minute, I had settled on a simple dish of coffee and steak. While waiting, I borrowed a paper from the fellow next to me in order to catch up with the events going on in the world. As I reached the politics section of the paper, I received my food. To say it was different to what I'm used to would be an understatement. Disappointingly, the coffee was much stronger than what I'm used to drinking back home, so I will not be having it again. The steak on the other hand, despite being well done, was one of the most pleasant I've had.<br/>
Finishing it quickly, I went back to the paper. Once again I was immediately interrupted by 'Bella as she gave me my bill: Coffee: $0.43, Steak: $1.50. I was surprised at how similar the prices are to my home. After paying my tab, I finished the paper. While different in many ways, I saw huge similarities with my home. Political riots, a challenged recent election, Race riots, and political based violence. I noticed in the paper a "Gene McCarthy is slated to become president in 3 days, replacing the current "Barry Goldwater". This news article reads more like a gossip tabloid than a legitimate paper. Looking at the name of the paper 'the Rocky mountain times' I decided not to read from this again.</p>
<p>Having paid my bill, I left the diner, and later town, making my way to the one place in this region I could be safe in, Denver.</p>
<p>---------------</p>
<p>Hello everyone, French here, I would like to thank you for reading the first chapter of this. I want to keep this short, but thank you for reading.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Back Home. . . .</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>17th of January, 1969<br/>
Universe MHY-1091133<br/>
5 hours earlier</p><p>---------------</p><p>It has been 3 years since the war began.<br/>
As arrogant as usual, my father refuses to negotiate, firing anyone who even suggests such an idea. To say this has made him, and to an extent me, a target, would be an understatement. He has no respect for life unless his legacy, me, is harmed. My father only cares for power and the continuation of this power, going as far as seeing his wife as 'fodder'. There have been moments where I  have had my brains almost blown out because of his... FUCKing arrogance.</p><p>This man, my father, is also the King.</p><p>To say I have a deep hatred of my own father would be putting it lightly. This has gotten to the point of me not even hiding it anymore, privately or publicly. I guess he noticed, as he commissioned the brightest minds of the nation to do the impossible: puncture a hole in the fabric of space to travel between universes. Even They though he was crazy when he authorized it. according to the physics we knew, it was impossible to puncture a hole in the fabric of the universe, let alone hop between universes.</p><p>Oh how we were wrong.</p><p>Somehow, the lab-rats figured out and built a functioning 'portal' in under 2 years. The machine was a mess of wires, metal, silicon and what I can only guess is the power source, 5 meter by 5 meter nuclear reactor strapped with monitoring equipment. This 'thing' was by all measures of safety anywhere in the world, was a death trap that could probably cause a miniature big bang in front of us. There was no way in hell I was going near that thing.</p><p>And of course, being the sadist my father is, he decided to make me the first official test subject. </p><p>For the entire duration of the test, I was mad, scarred and broken. I didn't know what emotion to express, and I heard the rats best describing me as 'neutral', whatever the hell that meant. Much like a rocket launch, there was a countdown timer. And like a rocket launch, I was packed lightly with all I would've needed on the other side, whatever the hell was there. As there were unofficial test before me to the universe, they had an idea of what's on the other side, procuring a fake ID and some cash that should come in handy.</p><p>"5"<br/>
. . .<br/>
"4"<br/>
Oh<br/>
"3"<br/>
Fuck<br/>
"2"<br/>
My<br/>
"1"<br/>
Life<br/>
"0"</p><p>---------------</p><p>17th of January, 1969<br/>
Colorado<br/>
2 miles from Hudson, 32 miles from Denver<br/>
Universe BWH-220238</p><p>---------------</p><p>. . . . .</p><p>"well.., 1. that was anticlimactic, 2. where the hell am I."<br/>
Looking around my surroundings, I see that I'm somewhere in the Midwest, possibly near the Rockies. Grabbing the back I was given, I decided to quickly change into what I can assume will allow me to fit into the area the most, a red-white flannel with jeans, stuffing my previous, more formal attire into my bag. I will have to learn how to wash clothes, but hey, as long as its not being nearly grazed by Sniper Rifle. I grab the watch, map, and compass and make my way down "highway 6" to Denver.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello, French again, thank you for reading this story, i hope you have continued to enjoy it as I have enjoyed writing it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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